


this is the part i wouldn’t show you

by orphan_account



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter/Funhaus RPF
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Blow Jobs, FakeHaus, GTA V AU, M/M, Masturbation, this is the most self-indulgent thing i have ever written
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-17
Updated: 2015-12-17
Packaged: 2018-05-07 07:52:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,409
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5448980
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lawrence never thought his "crush" on Adam would prove more difficult to handle than his life as a member of one of Los Santos' most feared criminal organisations, but it looks like that might just be the case.</p>
            </blockquote>





	this is the part i wouldn’t show you

**Author's Note:**

> this is the part I wouldn't show you/  
> the part where you say I don't even know you  
> (Jet Black by Jawbreaker)

The term “sanctuary” might be stretching it a little bit, but the small open space behind a row of empty warehouses on the port of south Los Santos, where they were presently hiding out, was safe enough for the moment.

Against the backdrop of a breathtakingly beautiful sunset he was way too exhausted to appreciate, Lawrence could just make out the silhouettes of four of his crewmates. They were sitting on the hoods of their respective cars, listening, as the sound of police sirens in the distance grew weaker, until it slowly faded down to nothing.

After what had been an almost relentless pursuit on the side of the cops, and a way too close call for the Fakehaus crew, it appeared as though the LSPD had finally given up, accepted defeat, and were now returning home. Probably to lick the wounds that the day’s violent skirmishes had no doubt inflicted on them.

Under different circumstances, the thought might have made him feel satisfied, accomplished even. But it wasn’t like their side had escaped unscathed either which, for Lawrence, really was the crux of the matter. Although it hadn’t been anything major, it still bugged the hell out of him.

 

"Occupational hazard," Adam had gritted out between laboured breaths, trying to hold it together, while Lawrence was busy frantically checking up on whether the N.O.O.S.E. sniper’s bullet had caused any permanent damage to his crew leader’s chest area. Miraculously enough, it hadn’t, aside from a giant hematoma that seemed to be about as painful as it looked. No broken bones though, so they could seriously count their blessings. _Thank fuck for body armour._

They had ditched Adam’s car for the purpose of making a quick – purely strategical – retreat, and he was currently resting on the comfortable backseat of Peake’s Land Rover, with Peake making sure that he really was completely fine.

Other than Adam, only James had sustained mentionable injuries – shrapnel from a poorly aimed grenade had scratched up his right shoulder, barely missing his neck.

Lawrence adjusted his glasses, sighed wearily, and started to strip off his bulletproof vest which he stashed in the trunk of his armoured SUV. Out of the corner of his eyes, he could see that James was making his way over to Bruce, arms crossed in front of his chest and clearly intent on starting yet another argument. Both his injury, and the sniper scare had added a considerable amount of fuel to the generally charged mood, and tensions were running high.

This entire thing ending in either a brawl, or a screaming match of truly epic proportions, appeared to be almost inevitable at this point. Following a deep, steadying intake of breath, Lawrence signed himself over to his fate as the unwilling mediator.

 

“Guys, can we please not get into another fight over this? I was under the impression that everything that needed to be said has already been articulated in some form or other.”

James gave no sign as to whether he’d heard Lawrence at all, he just continued on his merry way, apparently dead-set on venting his frustration by escalating this particular confrontation. _Great_.

“Listen, by now we can all agree on the fact that it wasn’t that Bruce’s plan sucked, alright? It failed because of a minor technicality he overlooked; it’s stupid, but it happens to the best of us. This isn’t the first time an op went south.”

At last, James turned around and opened his mouth, though Bruce beat him to it.

“Not to you, it doesn’t,” his voice sounded resigned, like he’d already accepted his role as the guilty party, and was trying to make his peace with it. Just like that, the atmosphere changed from volatile to weirdly dejected. James uncrossed his arms and let them drop to his sides, instinctively responding to the play of conflicted emotions on Bruce’s face. Meanwhile, Bruce stared at his hands and continued.

“Shit like this doesn’t happen when you’re the one masterminding our little excursions. Now I feel like an ass because I obviously didn’t give you enough credit before. It’s a lot harder than you make it sound.” Well, that was just bullshit. Sweet bullshit that stroked his ego maybe, but bullshit nonetheless. “Lots of things go awry all the time! Don’t get me wrong, I’m glad someone around here appreciates my work ethic, but my schemes are by no means flawless. Did you forget about how one of our getaway vehicles blew up last week during the bank job?”

James, now looking significantly less threatening than he had just a moment ago, came over and clapped him on the shoulder. “That’s usually us fucking it up, though. You gotta learn to take a compliment, buddy.” Spoole, who had been standing silently at the side lines, smoking and trying to relax, nodded sagely. “James is right, y’know. Especially since the compliment came from Bruce. He never gives me any compliments. Ouch!” His last comment had earned Spoole a nice head slap. Bruce, already stepping away and miming the innocent, mumbled “It wasn’t even that hard,” into his beard, swiftly evading a kick aimed right at his shins.

“That settles it then, gentlemen,” Joel announced with all the gravity of a ceremonial spokesperson. “From this point on, Lawrence is responsible for any and all planning pertaining to the ventures of the Fakehaus crew, not that it changes many aspects of his job. Or any, really.”

“Don’t you think we should talk to Adam first? I’m rather certain that he’d like to have a say in these kinds of decisions.”

Sidestepping Joel’s attempt to drape an arm around his shoulders, Lawrence took out his smartphone to check the time, before he walked over to Peake’s car and leaned on the roof, right next to where Matt was crouched down in front of the back door. “I’d say it’s just about time to leave, if everything’s alright back here…?” he left the question hanging for a moment, and instead chose to watch as Adam tried (and failed) to sit up and arrange himself in a more dignified position. Not that the back seats offered him a lot of options.

“He seems to be mostly okay. His bruise has gotten a lot uglier, though,” Matt stated, hands busy playing with the zipper of his jacket. Adam made a face at that. “It also hurts. Like hell. Why the fuck hasn’t anyone brought me any painkillers yet?” Lawrence shrugged and gave him an apologetic smile. “Sorry man, we were sort of preoccupied with getting Los Santos’ finest off our tail. I guess I could get you some now, not that we have anything stronger than Ibuprofen.”

This just earned him an exasperated groan. “Sounds like we’ve gotta hold up a pharmacy next, huh? Please, just get me the fucking pills, I’m honestly suffering over here.” Adam dramatically rolled his eyes which in turn caused Lawrence to grin. An expression he definitely wasn’t able to hide fast enough, since Adam immediately called him out on it. “Oh my god, you’re actually enjoying this, aren’t you? I cannot fucking believe you.”

Lawrence just knew that if he were to aim for a contrite approach, he would miss by a mile. “Be assured it’s not your suffering I take pleasure in, Adam. It’s the fact that you’re acting sort of pathetic right now, and it’s actually kind of adorable.” Interrupting himself before he was able to elaborate on an explanation Adam was probably not going to like, Lawrence took a step towards his SUV. “I’m just… gonna go and get you those pain meds, hold on a sec.”

With that, he left in the direction of his vehicle, all the while fiercely hoping that the pack of painkillers was still lying untouched in his glove box. He opened the door on the passenger’s side, relocated his assault rifle to the driver’s seat, and pulled out the special key he used to unlock his favourite storage compartment. One could never be too careful, after all it wasn’t paranoia if they were really out to get you.

_Jackpot._

When he got back to Peake’s car, everyone else was already grouped around it, their facial expressions ranging from slightly concerned (James), to visibly upset (Bruce). In a desperate attempt to lighten the mood, Adam had gone for the good old, tried-and-true “Come on guys, we’ve had worse” speech. However, his constant wincing every time he strained his chest had caused his plan to severely backfire; the others were now debating whether taking him to a hospital – or worse, a black market doctor – were viable options after all. Determined to put an end to that particular discussion as fast as possible (on the grounds that either choice was way too dangerous), Lawrence stepped in to hand Adam his meds, as well as a bottle of water to ease the process of swallowing them.

“Adam, please be careful with the dosage, these can seriously fuck up your stomach.” The look he received in lieu of an actual, verbal answer conveyed very openly what Adam thought of his warning. Lawrence interpreted it as a reminder that Adam did indeed possess prior knowledge concerning the appropriate utilisation of painkillers. Though he cheerfully edited out the strong language he was certain had originally been implied, and watched closely, as Adam downed 800 mg Ibuprofen with the help of a large gulp of water.

“Have you guys told him about your decision yet? Unless you reconsidered already, of course,” wondered Lawrence, trying for nonchalant and failing laughably.

“We haven’t, actually,” Bruce replied, mercifully ignoring the awkward attempt entirely. If it hadn’t been for the small grin tugging at his lips, Lawrence might have thought that Bruce hadn’t noticed anything in the first place.

“Haven’t done what? Told him or reconsidered?” He was skating the edge of annoyance now. _Is this really necessary?_

Bruce started to answer just as Adam asked “Told me what?” in that tone he used when he suspected people were intentionally leaving him out of stuff. It was no secret that Adam fucking hated feeling like he was out of the loop.

“Well, we – that includes Peake, Spoole, Joel, Bruce, and I– ” James gesticulated towards the included parties, “have decided we want Lawrence to completely take over the planning for our little crew activities. He has proven to be the most efficient, resourceful schemer out of all of us, so we thought this would be a good idea.”

Adam raised his eyebrows inquisitively. “Okay, I agree, but what does Lawrence think about this? You up for it?”

Everyone shifted their attention to Lawrence who simply shrugged, but then a smile spread over his face. “I’m always up for a challenge, not that it’s gonna be much of one. ‘course I’ll do it, you can count on me, as usual.” He had no doubt regarding his qualifications for the position, was sure he could do one hell of a job. Still, it filled him with genuine happiness how much his friends trusted in him and his abilities. There was a difference between knowing you were good, and having other people acknowledge openly that you were good. Not just anyone, either – the people who mattered the most to him.

 

“So, now that that’s decided, what do we do with the rest of today?” Joel inquired helpfully. Spoole made a noise that suggested he was interested in the answer to the question as well.

“First order of business is obviously transporting Adam home. So, everyone, get in your cars and meet up at HQ in fifteen minutes. Twenty at the latest. Then we can regroup and handle today’s fallout,” James took a deep breath and looked at each of them in turn. “And no one else gets hurt, you hear me? No one. Especially not you, Adam, or I will literally shoot you myself.” James proceeded to stare Adam down, until he received a curt nod in reply.

“Good, let’s work with that. Peake, I trust we can leave Adam in your care for what’s left of the road? You’re our safest driver anyway.” Matt gave Lawrence a sketchy salute. “Sure, no problem.”

“Alright, guys. Let’s hit the road.”

Fortunately, they made it to Adam’s apartment (which doubled as the Fakehaus HQ because of its convenient location and general accessibility) without any further incidents. Granted, it took them a while to somehow transport Adam from the garage to the elevator – he kept insisting on being able to walk, while Bruce and James were trying to “help out” in the most obnoxiously patronizing way possible – but eventually they managed.

Looking around, Lawrence found that they all looked relieved to have made it back like this, more or less in one piece. It wasn’t easy to spot on everyone’s face, considering how a few members of the crew were able to conceal their emotions better than others, yet he was pretty sure about one thing: they had all been afraid today.

What they did was always dangerous on some level; operating outside of the confinement of the law, challenging the local authorities, participating in acts that caused all kinds of damage. Really, this job came with its “very own box of individual safety hazards”, as Adam had once so adequately put it. Lawrence knew it wasn’t that the cops had been so hot on their heels, or that they had been largely outnumbered and outgunned. The answer as to why the events of the day had hit them especially hard, had upset them more than mishaps during ops usually would, lay in the fact that the Fakehaus crew hated being reminded of their own mortality. Or, to be more specific, Adam’s mortality.

He’d been the one to start this little business venture of theirs, had revived old connections and called in numerous favours to make it all happen. All of them were aware of how much effort, how much blood he’d invested into this project, into them, and the way they were now living their lives. There was no one in the crew who had given up more of himself than Adam Kovic had, and even though he’d never call it a debt or ask any of them to repay him for what he had sacrificed, all of them were ready to do just that at any moment.

When he had been shot in the fray earlier, when his body had dropped to the ground a second after the sniper round had hit him square in the chest, each and everyone of them had frozen up for the blink of an eye.

Lawrence could recall exactly how he’d felt in that instant, crouched in relative safety behind the front wheels of a truck, could remember the shock, the abject terror of watching his leader fall. Sweaty hands clasped desperately around the grip of his assault rifle, the sound of his heartbeat amplified to a point where the noise of the battlefield was fully drowned out, body paralyzed, time stretched and slowed down almost to a halt.

Although it had merely lasted for a few short seconds, the memory impacted him a great deal. Before he’d taken a deep breath, air smelling of cordite and burned rubber, regained control of his muscles, and crawled over to pull Adam out of the line of fire, Lawrence had been certain he’d find his friend dead. He’d had himself so convinced that when Adam had blinked up at him, expression contorted in pain, eyes halfway closed against the brightness of the sun in his face, Lawrence had felt such intense joy, he’d been unable to keep from hugging him tightly, cradling him close to his chest. Jesus, he’d almost started crying right then.

Judging by everybody else’s reactions, he hadn’t been the only one terrified of finding out what it would be like to live in a world without Adam.

They were currently gathered in Adam’s living room which featured an obscenely expensive entertainment center, as well as a giant, orange couch, and multiple armchairs that had been arranged neatly around a couch table in the middle.

Peake had already laid claim to his favourite seat - the black armchair closest to the wide window; it doubled as an excellent vantage point. As the crew’s most adept sniper, he usually seemed to naturally be drawn to those specific spots. His skilled fingers were busy disassembling his rifle, arranging its various parts on the floor to later pick up and meticulously clean in a well-established order.

Bruce and James were attempting to bully Adam into going to bed, or at least lying  down. Worry and anger showed openly in Bruce’s eyes, James appeared as calm and unfazed as though nothing was out of the ordinary. Solely his shaking fingers and the way he occasionally stumbled over a word gave him away.

Joel had helped himself to a fine bottle of red wine from Adam’s generously stocked liquor cabinet, and was now fervently pouring the beverage into a whisky glass, his grip on both glass and bottle as tight as the line of his lips.

Spoole, the most obvious out of all of them when it came to displaying emotions, was pacing up and down the room, nervously watching the rest of the crew. His red baseball cap was bunched up in his hands, and when his gaze met Lawrence’s, there was a lot of uncertainty in it.

The role of the mindful observer wasn’t something Lawrence had consciously chosen, it was just the part that came most easily to him. Growing up, he’d always had a gift for analysing situations and their likely conclusions, excelled at deducing and creating logical bridges between seemingly unrelated details. All of that turned out to be extremely handy when you made your living in a profession which required you to constantly pick between possible choices by factoring in their respective outcomes. He fancied himself a pragmatic in all things business, and his acquaintances - friends as well as foes - tended to agree.

Of course, his personal life wasn’t half as clear-cut (and therefore his decisions not half as rational) as he’d like for it to be. Having any sort of emotional depth tended to do that to people.

At last, his musings were interrupted when a visibly calmer Joel offered him the wine bottle. “Nah, I’ll drink once I’m home. Don’t quite feel up to it, anyway.”

This gained the attention of the rest of the crew members, even the three who’d been previously arguing intently were now looking curiously in their direction.

“Wait, Lawrence, you don’t feel up to drinking? Are you sure? Is everything okay, man?” Joel scrutinised him, forehead creased thoughtfully.

“Yes, Jesus Christ, I’m fine.”

“Still just little ol’ Joel Rubin, but thanks.” Everyone groaned, excluding Peake, whose brows were furrowed in concentration while he carefully wiped the lense of his tactical scope.

“There’s a bottle of choice Vodka in the cabinet that’s got your name on it. You know, in case you change your mind.” Adam’s face had regained all of its original colour, and the pain had ostensibly subsided, since he acted like he was back to his normal self. Bruce and James had not stopped giving him worried looks though, so it might be just that - an act.

“No, really, I’m good,” he raised his hands in a declining gesture.

Spoole, who had ultimately ended up putting his hat back on and found a place on the couch, deemed it the right time to make it known that, actually, he wouldn’t be opposed to opening a can of cold beer or two. Most of the others agreed with him, and James went to get a couple of six packs from the kitchen.

Lawrence waited until his friends were too preoccupied setting up what was supposed to have been an after-action strategy meeting, but was at this point almost positively going to turn into what constituted a regular Thursday evening for them.

Finally, he dropped down next to Adam on the couch, and gave him a disbelieving look. For Lawrence, it wasn’t much of a challenge to infer from his body language what Adam was thinking. If you spent enough time observing him, his tells became rather noticeable, no matter how hard he tried to hide their existence.

“Bruce and James were right, you know,” he started, and as soon as the words had left his lips, he could see the way Adam steeled himself for yet another argument.

“Listen, I’m not saying you have to brush your teeth and go to sleep like a good little boy, but it definitely wouldn’t hurt you to lie down somewhere, let your body relax. And no, the couch doesn’t count.” Counting it as a victory that he didn’t receive an immediate refusal, Lawrence pushed on.

“It’ll be a while before you can take any more painkillers, plus I don’t know whether they mix well with alcohol, which – given that you intend to stay here in this room – you will almost certainly indulge in.”

Adam sighed, and leaned forwards into Lawrence’s space, resting his head against his shoulder. All at once, he gave up any pretenses of being anything besides utterly beat. Apparently, surviving an otherwise deadly shootout took its toll on your energy resources. Go figure.     

“I hate it when you reason with me like an actual adult.”

“Yes, I’m aware. Kinda odd, most of the others still haven’t worked out that simple, old-fashioned disputes feed into your confrontational spirit.” He lazily patted Adam’s back, letting his hand linger for a few seconds. An innocent gesture of comfort, nothing more.

“You could just tell them,” Adam mumbled into his beard, warm exhale heating Lawrence’s skin through his shirt. _This is nice_ , Lawrence’s mind supplied unhelpfully, immediately followed by the realisation of how inappropriate the thought was.

Ignoring his inner turmoil, Lawrence chuckled. A light, breathy sound.

“And where’d be the fun in that? This way, not only do I get to watch all of you bicker away through pointless struggles, but there’s also the added bonus of coming across as the embodiment of rationality compared to you guys.”  

They stayed next to each other on the couch for a couple of minutes, just quietly kept each other company, revelling in a pleasant silence filled only by the noises the rest of the crew made, as they set up a video game.

Eventually, Adam clapped Lawrence on the back, stood up and left in the direction of his bedroom.

He was trying his hardest not to lament the sudden loss of warmth, not to miss Adam’s steady presence at his side. It wasn’t working very well. _God fucking damn it._

None of the others noticed Adam’s absence, they were too engrossed in whatever was happening on Adam’s big flatscreen TV. Even Peake, who had finished up taking care of his rifle, was being roped into the newest group activity, albeit his expression spoke of a certain reluctance.  

Lawrence leaned back, sunk deeper into the soft material of the couch, closed his eyes, and wondered – not for the first time – whether there was some rational way to go about having feelings. Although highly unlikely, he wouldn’t stop looking anytime soon. At least not until he managed to find a solution to his stupid fucking problem.

“Yo, Lawrence, where’d Adam run off to? We’re gonna play his favourite game next, so it’d only be fair if he takes over one of the controllers.”

Bruce was standing over him, an inquisitive look in his eyes. He blinked, and adjusted his glasses. Damn things kept slipping down his nose, he really needed to get them fixed. Or buy new ones. Yeah, that’d do.

“You look tired, man, did I wake you up or something?” Had he been sleeping? He wasn’t sure.

“Fuck, you’re really off your game today, aren’t you? First the alcohol thing, now this… Should I be worried?”

His instinctive response was to give Bruce the finger, but when he saw the ghost of a smirk Bruce was unsuccessfully attempting to ban from his expression, he groaned instead.

“Adam went to bed. Don’t look so surprised, he simply needed someone to tell him the facts.” Stretching his arms and yawning, Lawrence glanced over at the TV.

“What are you guys playing, anyway? If you’re planning on doing shots to that dumb racing game with the donkeys again, I’m out. I can’t stand that shit sober.”

Just as Bruce was about to answer, Joel crept up on him from behind, and wrapped his arms around his broad chest, which earned him an exasperated eyeroll.

“Gee, Lawrence, you think so little of us? We were originally going to do shots to Adam’s precious FPS. You know, the one with the aliens he gets so excited about that he won’t shut up once he starts talking? Problem is, we can’t find the fucking disc, so yeah, donkey race it is!” Joel didn’t actually seem too disappointed in this turn of events.

With what felt like a herculean effort to him, Lawrence rose from the depths of the couch and walked over to the entrance of the living room. “Alright, in that case, I’ll leave you to your own devices. I’m gonna hit the head, check on Adam, and then I’m off.”

An abrupt, loud noise alerted all three of them, causing them to redirect their attention towards the spectacle currently unfolding in front of the TV. Spoole, who had somehow come into the possession of multiple couch cushions, was staging a frontal assault on James, whose shoulder injury seemingly didn’t prevent him from retaliating. Meanwhile, Peake struggled to stay out of the trajectory of Spoole’s varicoloured ammo. _Well then._

“See you guys tomorrow. Probably,” he added, uncertain of whether any of his friends were going to survive the epic battle Spoole had incited.

“Aww, c’mon Lawrence, drink with us. Don’t be such a spoilsport.” Joel was apparently unwilling to concede defeat.

“I really wanna drive home. In my own car, okay? Last time I called one of those shuttle services, it was a fucking disaster. Washing the fucking blood out of the lining of my leather jacket ended up being literally impossible. Also, it appears as though you guys have your hands full with James, Spoole and this… situation.”

And with a final headshake that doubled as a sort of semi-apology, he went off to the bathroom.

Lawrence had no intention of wasting more time than necessary in the bathroom, but when he caught a glance of his reflection in the mirror while he dried his hands, it stopped him in his tracks. Maybe his friends, who often expressed their concerns via mockery and witty banter, had been on to something after all.

He looked decidedly unwell, his already pretty light skin was disconcertingly pale, highlighting the dark circles under his eyes. Those technically weren’t anything new, he’d been trying to fix his fucked up sleeping schedule for some time now, though his attempts had shown to be mostly futile.

Bracing his hands on the sink, he subjected his reflection to a closer inspection.

His glasses were dirty, and had slid down his nose again, his hair was a mess, his usually watchful, hazel eyes stared murkily back at him, marked by a sheen of bone-deep weariness. He also felt like he was in acute need of a shower.

For the second time that day, Lawrence sighed deeply, fed up with just about everything, and ready to finally put the last couple of hours behind him. What he really wanted was a hot shower, and a decent amount of sleep. Definitely not too much to ask for.

First he had to make it home safely, so he splashed a few hands full of ice cold water in his face, to wake himself up enough to make sure he wouldn’t fall asleep at the wheel. _Now that would make for a fitting end to this bullshit day._

More or less satisfied with the result, he switched off the light and closed the bathroom door behind himself.

The layout of Adam’s flat made it impossible for him to reach the exit without passing by the bedroom, even if he hadn’t been determined to make sure that his crew leader was fine, anyway. Therefore, what happened next was entirely unavoidable. Or, at least that’s what Lawrence would tell himself later, when he looked back, and wondered how things could have progressed in such an unexpected fashion.

He was just about to carefully open the door – not wanting to disturb Adam in case he was asleep – when he heard muffled swearing and what sounded like someone moaning in pain.

Had they overlooked anything and severely underestimated the severity of the consequences the bullet impact had had on Adam’s body? Or were the painkillers causing some kind of trouble?

Normally, Lawrence was anything but the panicky type, managed to stay calm in the trickiest of situations. But once again, the implication that Adam might be in danger short-circuited his ability to stay levelheaded. With more force than necessary, he pulled open the door and burst into the room.

“Adam, is everything alright – oh my God!”

The picture he was confronted with as soon as he turned on the light knocked the breath right out of him: Adam was lying on his back, eyes closed, boxershorts shoved down to his ankles. His left hand was rapidly stroking his hard dick, rhythm clearly well practiced, his right hand was wrapped tightly around an uncapped bottle of lube.

Lawrence couldn’t avert his gaze from the scene playing out before him, from Adam between his messy sheets, sweat glistening on his skin, jerking himself off with abandon. He could, however, distinctly feel his dick responding, straining against the confines of his black denims. _Fuck._

Then Adam blinked, caught Lawrence’s surely hilarious deer-in-the-headlights expression, mouth dropping open in a drawn-out moan – and promptly came all over his fingers and stomach.

“Fuck, Lawrence, fuck, oh my… Fucking hell,” Adam was panting, his body flushed all over, the look in his eyes somewhere between blissful and mortified. It didn’t make for a good mix, not that this assertion prevented Lawrence in any way from finding it incredibly attractive.

In what basically amounted to a last-ditch effort to preserve at least some modicum of decency, he finally succeeded in tearing his gaze away from Adam, who was now frantically attempting to cover himself up.

“Damn it, I’m– God, I’m so sorry, Adam. I was outside your room and heard noises, I just… I’m so fucking sorry, alright,” Lawrence told Adam’s orange curtains, uncomfortably aware of the fact that he was still half-hard in his jeans, feeling less articulate than he ever had before. He really needed to get the fuck out of here, needed to get home, or someplace else that offered a good supply of Vodka on tap. All thoughts of sleep were forgotten, the image of a gloriously naked Adam burned into his mind would keep him awake for ages.

“Listen, I’m glad you worry so much about me, it’s... comforting in a way. But I’m fine. Well, for the most part.” Adam’s voice sounded rough as he spoke, and he repeatedly cleared his throat. There was an insistent tinge of awkwardness seeping into it, like blood from an open wound. This felt too intimate, too raw. Lawrence’s skin was shivering from the weirdness of it all. _Time to leave._

He didn’t make it very far, before Adam’s voice pulled him back. “I did sleep for a bit. I slept, and then I woke up, and it was warm, so– so fucking warm. So I did the one thing I could think of to help me fall back asleep.” Oh God, Adam was rambling because he had no idea how to deal with this situation, and neither did Lawrence, which caused him to feel even worse about it.

“You don’t need to justify yourself, okay? We– we never have to talk about this again. It happened, I walked in on you with your dick in your hand, big fucking deal. Not like this isn’t a regular everyday occurrence for dudes using public bathrooms,” he said, faking as much confidence and certainty as he possibly could.

Still, what he was utterly unable to do was meet Adam’s eyes, or actually look in his general direction. Instead, he stayed where he was, resolutely facing the door, his hands balled into fists at his sides, nails burrowing into his palms.

He knew without a sliver of a doubt that if most of his blood wasn’t currently busy heading south, his face would be redder than Spoole’s goddamn baseball cap at this point.

“Since I originally came in to check up on your well-being, and you appear to be fine, I think I’ll head home. I already said goodbye to the others, they’re still fucking around in your living room. Not literally, I don’t think, but you get the gist.” At last, his words were returning to him.

“Lawrence, would you mind looking at me for a second?” Of course Adam would notice, and Lawrence was sort of pleased that he hadn’t hesitated to call him out on it. That didn’t make following the request any easier, though.

He turned around slowly, careful to keep his face expressionless, his body language neutral. Adam was regarding him with what to Lawrence almost seemed like apprehension, and fuck, how much he hated that he’d put that look there. Jesus, he was really craving some Vodka now.

“Are we alright?” The absurdity of the question nearly made him laugh, it was so ridiculous. Poor Adam. _Are we alright after I watched you come all over yourself and I got hard because hearing you pant my name in that situation was just about the hottest thing I’ve ever experienced? You tell me._

“Sure, always. I’m not freaking out, or anything. On a list of the top ten most unsettling moments of my life, this doesn’t even come close to beating out number seven.” _If only you knew how fucked up I already am over you._

Apparently that had been the right thing to say, since Adam gave him a small smile, half relieved, half amused. “Please don’t ever change, Lawrence, I swear to god.”

Due to the horrible Los Santos traffic – the people in this town simply couldn’t drive for shit – it took Lawrence an entire hour to get home. Two heavy accidents involving crashed helicopters caused the cops to completely block off one of the main roads, and the detour he had to take featured a scenic panorama of multiple construction sites. In the end, he stopped caring about traffic lights altogether. Instead, he floored it all the way home to his small condo on the outskirts of the city, while Jon Bon Jovi intently advised him to “Keep the Faith”.

On the positive side, the frustration had ended up killing off his incessant arousal. Now he was just angry; at himself, at the fucking sniper who’d dared to hurt Adam, at the fucking pigs, and at this godforsaken city.

His humble abode wasn’t as luxurious as Adam’s apartment, or as spacey as Bruce and James’ bungalow with its giant swimming-pool. Theoretically, he could afford far better, but it was exactly what he’d looked for in a safe house. Lawrence liked to keep a low profile, an old habit which had carried over from his past job, a habit he wasn’t looking to kick.

Most of the rooms had little corners dedicated to various high-tech devices, computer parts littered almost every available surface, and his bedroom wouldn’t have seemed out of place in one of those pricey Vinewood sci fi productions. Not really ideal if you wanted to invite someone over, although that wasn’t really an issue because Lawrence was a fan of keeping his hook-ups, his business, and his private life separate. Another one of those old habits. They did come in handy occasionally.

When he was finally able to close the door behind himself, to lock the rest of the bullshit out for whatever time he had before he needed to take off again, he breathed in deeply and subsequently pushed all of the air out in one go. Then he purposefully walked through the narrow hallway towards his living room, grabbed a bottle of Vodka from the cupboard, and sprawled on his ancient, grey sofa.

“Gotta get a grip on this, gotta unfuck the situation,” he thought to himself, taking a huge swig of Vodka straight from the bottle. And a second one for good measure.

As he was about to start assessing the damage, his phone vibrated. Someone had sent him a text. Probably Joel.

Placing the Vodka on the floor next to him, he retrieved his phone from his jeans’ back pocket. His guess turned out to be correct, Joel had indeed texted him.

_> yo lawdawg everything ok? u seemed sorta out of it earlier_

_I’m fine, Joel. Don’t worry. <_

_> aight man if u say so_

_> u missed out on james kissing spooles ass_

_??? <_

_> i meant kicking fuck this phone_

_> like there was some actual wrestling going on_

_> i think bruce might have a vid_

_Anything new on Adam? <_

_> nah he was sleeping last time we checked_

_> out like a light_

_> u home yet?_

_Just arrived, like a minute ago. <_

_> well then_

_> have fun getting blackout drunk_

_> by urself like some fuckin alcoholic_

_You know me too well. <_

_> oh i forgot to mention_

_> we postponed that strategy meeting _   
_You don’t say. <_

_> shut up_

_> be there tomorrow @ 3pm                             _

_Got it. <_

_> take care lawdawg_

_> sweet dreams  <3_

_Thanks, Joel. You too. <_

He stared at his phone until the screen went dark, contemplating the new information. 3 p.m. was definitely a time he could work with. And if Adam had had no problem falling back asleep after their little encounter, things were likely okay between them. Usually, Adam had trouble sleeping if something stressed him out, he was just that kind of person. Then again, chances were he had faked being asleep so as not to worry the rest of the crew.

_Thinking like that gets me nowhere. Fucking worrying about stuff when I don’t really know what is and isn’t true... Jesus, this is so goddamn redundant._

Lawrence dropped his phone on his chest and covered his face with his hands. How had he even let it come this far? Why was he obsessing over this so much? All of it was so immensely ridiculous. Also kind of pathetic. His feelings – and wasn’t it bitter that he actually had to use that term for accuracy’s sake, no matter how adolescent and inadequate it made him feel – for Adam were, ultimately, not something that had only developed yesterday. No, this dilemma had been ages in the making.

In retrospect, he probably should have made more of an effort to stay away from Adam, should have stopped associating with him the second he noticed that he was emotionally compromised. But Lawrence had been determined to handle this in the most naive manner possible, to deal with it by waiting it out. Surely, this passing attraction would flare out over time? What a goddamn fool past Lawrence had been. What a hopelessly infuriating moron.

Of course, it had gotten worse instead. Curse Adam and his stupid fucking beard, the way his eyes crinkled, and he curled in on himself when he laughed, how his compact muscles stretched out his t-shirts in his chest area when he was breathing heavily after an intensive workout. His quiet resolve and endearing stubbornness, his boundless confidence when it came to his crewmates. Adam proved to be a capable and efficient leader with a knack for maneuvering difficult situations, made all the right calls, valued his crew members’ input at least as much as his own. All of this led to Lawrence finding himself increasingly charmed by Adam.

He’d basically been attracted to Adam since their very first meeting, or, to be more precise, their first conversation.

The sentence “I love it when people owe me favours,” had fallen at one point, and his brain had for some reason been way more interested in the sexual innuendo than the business implications. There had been a weird glint in Adam’s eyes, as well, leaving Lawrence under the impression that, had he acted on his urges back then, and hit on him, maybe Adam wouldn’t exactly have been opposed to the idea.

Neither of them had acknowledged it, though, and Lawrence spent many a lonely night dreaming up various scenarios of how it could have played out if they had. Imagining an alternate ending to that moment had, in fact, provided him with multiple of his favourite jerk-off fantasies at the time.

When they’d gotten to know each other better, and after Lawrence had officially become part of Adam’s start-up crew, he’d tried to abstain from thinking about Adam too much in a sexual context.

To no one’s surprise, least of all his own, he had failed spectacularly. For months, he’d had a hard time – pun absolutely intended – focussing around Adam, to a point where it negatively impacted his professionalism and productivity. Eventually though, he’d regained a certain amount of control over his libido, and had since been able to play it cool.

And then today had completely fucked up his neatly arranged reality. Instances like this left him wishing he’d told one of the others about his predicament, maybe Joel, or Peake, or even James. At least that would lend him the opportunity to ask someone close to the situation about their opinion. But a small part of him was afraid of judgement and ridicule. It was this insecurity, no matter how deceptively insignificant, that held him back from taking the actual step of talking about it to anyone in the Fakehaus crew.

However, as it stood, Lawrence had a wide net of contacts, people he’d met through both his past and current occupations. While few of those were even remotely close enough to him to be considered “friends”, there was one guy who did theoretically qualify for the position. Lawrence had struck up an unlikely bond with the Fake AH Crew’s self-proclaimed wild card/demolition expert, based upon their mutual respect for each other’s work and style. They traded all kinds of favours back and forth. Lots of them off the record, yet strictly business-related. Not that Lawrence found Michael unattractive – quite the opposite, actually – his no-bullshit attitude and explosive temperament held their own unique appeal. Considering how neither of them was too interested in over complicating their relationship, the idea of getting involved beyond their present agreement had simply never come up.

Their business relationship classified them as something akin to “on-again-off-again allies” which didn’t necessarily fit the bill a hundred percent. Generally speaking, they were on amicable terms, with a little bit of competitive hostility thrown in the mix every now and then.

He’d told Michael about his attraction to Adam during one of their shared projects, had clued him in as he was hacking into the servers of a military research facility and Michael watched over his shoulder, studying the blueprints of a brand new LAV he wanted to acquire. Because Michael wasn’t commonly much of a gossip, Lawrence was pretty sure he didn’t need to worry about word getting out. Unfortunately, he also wasn’t able to offer much in terms of useful advice.

Well, at least he’d gotten a compassionate back slap and a heartfelt “Damn dude, that sucks,” out of it. Even though Michael himself didn’t seem inclined to share a lot about his personal problems, he also didn’t judge Lawrence. Rather, he demonstrated an heretofore unexpected aptitude for listening. Who would have anticipated fucking Michael Jones of all people to be an attentive listener? Lawrence couldn’t believe his luck.

Thinking of Michael reminded him that there was still something else which required his attention. Before he left the coziness of his couch behind, he swallowed another couple mouthfuls of Vodka and checked the time. According to the digital clock on his wall, it was already way past midnight. Another long night, then. By this point, his body really should be used to them. He could feel the tension seeping into his muscles at the prospect of staying up until what was very likely going to be sunrise.

No way around it, though, this needed doing, it was unquestionably crucial for his peace of mind that he finished this task as soon as possible.

While Lawrence booted up his favourite computer, he took off his glasses and hastily cleaned them with one of the pieces of cloth he kept in his workspace for that exact purpose. The Vodka bottle he had placed right next to his mouse, making it readily accessible. God knew he’d most likely have emptied it come morning.

Years of experience had taught him that breaking into the Los Santos Police Department’s database was a laughably easy feat. Their security was lackluster at best, and a goddamn disgrace to programmers everywhere. The discovery that they apparently still hadn’t detected the Trojan he’d specifically designed to infiltrate their systems, filled him with pure, unadulterated glee.

Lawrence happened to be acquainted – if passingly, from overheard conversations – with the man in charge of the LSPD’s online security, the one responsible for this picture of shoddy craftsmanship. Atticus Alistair Arlington, born on February 23, 1978, in San Andreas, social security number 661-22-7492, was just as snobby, uptight, and entitled, as his stupid, alliterated name suggested.

His sole outstanding personality trait, as far as Lawrence was aware, was that he had no personality. About as opportunistic and corrupt as they came, Arlington had achieved his high position in the LSPD’s hierarchy by kissing any ass he’d been able to reach from his lowly position as a bottom-feeder.

There was a certain kind of perverse pleasure to be gained from the knowledge that Lawrence could end this man’s career, his entire life, at literally any point via the input of a few simple commands.

The sole reason he hadn’t done so up to now, was because as long as Arlington held the reins, it was unlikely that the LSPD would ever upgrade their firewall. After all, there was no better ally than the sheer incompetence of an opponent. As a programmer, the man was nowhere near Lawrence’s level, didn’t even come close in a comparison of skill. He was uniquely unqualified for his job.

Sometimes, Lawrence wished this whole hacking business would pose more of a challenge, but then close calls like the one a couple hours ago reminded him that he should be glad for the parts of his life which didn’t cause him to suffer from constant stress-headaches. Besides, if he wanted to put his particular skillset to the test, he could always duke it out with the cyber security section of the FIB.

Finding the info he needed took a little longer than the actual illegal accessing part, since the layout of the database was just as crude and confusing as the use of the programming language constituting its foundation.

When he finally had every detail he needed, Lawrence reached for the burner phone hidden away in a secret compartment under his desk. Leaning back in his ergonomic, custom manufactured office chair, he dialled a well memorised number.

Now, all he had to do was wait.

“Would you look at that, if it isn’t the esteemed Mr. Lawrence Sonntag, honouring me with the sound of his dulcet tones at such an early hour. What can I do for you, Sir? How have ya been, motherfucker?” Michael asked, voice way too upbeat for 4 a.m., apparently not at all tired, let alone upset about the timing of Lawrence’s call.

“I have a job for you. Well, you and Ryan, specifically.” Lawrence ignored the questions, deciding to get right down to it. He couldn’t really allow himself the luxury of small talk.

“Straight to the point, as always. Definitely something I can appreciate in both a business partner and a friend. So, who is the lucky fuck that needs to be slaughtered? I assume that’s what it is, since you explicitly requested Ryan’s presence,” Michael said, curiosity obviously piqued. Somewhere in the background, Lawrence could hear a loud explosion, followed by bellowing laughter.

“Adam got shot today. By a guy from N.O.O.S.E.. He survived it.”

Recounting it like that, like it had just been a regular occurrence he’d put past himself, let the fear from before flare up again. The abject terror of watching Adam’s body hit the ground, lying motionless in the aftermath of a deafening shot. Lawrence swallowed past the intense emotional distress his memories were causing him, and regained his composure. Thankfully, Michael wasn’t here with him, he was a lot more perceptive than people gave him credit for.

“The round got stuck in his bulletproof vest, so he didn’t take too much damage. But I want– no, I need you to take care of that asshole. Make it painful, he’s gotta pay for this. And it’s gotta be tonight. I’d do it myself, believe me, I’d love to. However, the ramifications of today’s events leave me with no other choice.”

There was a moment of contemplative silence on the other end of the line, devoid even of the previous background noises. “So what you’re saying is basically that you have everything required to track the shithead down, you just need someone to pull the trigger. Ryan and I can certainly do that.” He sounded thoughtful, was probably already going over the necessary preparations for the job in his head.

“Oh, I’d like for you to do more than just pull the trigger. If any trigger has to be pulled at all, shoot out his kneecaps. I want him to suffer more than anything.” Lawrence stared at his hastily scribbled notes, unseeingly. In his mind, he was already visualising the execution of his plan, looking on with steeled determination, as Michael and Ryan flawlessly carried out his revenge.

“Got it, man. Send me what info you got on the guy, and we’ll be all over that shit. Though, knowing you, it’s probably everything from his birth date to the number of his grandmother’s hairdresser. So just stick to his name and address, we’ll deal with the rest. Don’t bother thanking us once we’re done, either. Adam is an ally, we take connections like that very seriously. Also give yourself a fucking break, dude, you sound like alcohol and bad decisions.”

Disregarding Michael’s advice, Lawrence went right back to work after he’d sent Michael a text containing the relevant details. There was more important shit to do, more people to track down, more evidence to destroy.

Come sunlight, his bottle was empty, just as he’d predicted. His hands were shaking from overexertion. Yet Lawrence still wasn’t done. He took the LSPD’s entire system offline, and typed up an anonymous tip for a local newspaper, which contained watertight proof that the officer responsible for yesterday’s operation was connected to an ongoing corruption scandal.

Only after that was finished did he power off his computer, and shuffled over to the bathroom to take his well-deserved shower. As the pouring water slowly soothed his tired body, his thoughts returned to the scene he’d walked in on the night before.

It wasn’t long, before the images of a mostly naked Adam getting himself off turned into fantasies of Lawrence giving him a hand with that. Of stroking his sweaty skin, kissing his flushed neck, wrapping a hand around Adam’s dick, and working him over until he came with a low, throaty moan that sounded suspiciously like Lawrence’s name. The fact that he now knew what Adam looked like, what he sounded like, and which expression was on his face when he came, only managed to rile him up more. Although he wasn’t the type of guy who’d wax poetically about dick size and general aesthetics, seeing Adam so exposed had definitely trumped whatever his extremely vivid imagination had come up with.  

Afterwards, he felt the shame creeping up his back, reddening his cheeks, until it finally settled heavily in his eyes. Disgusted with himself, he ignored his reflection in the foggy mirror while he brushed his teeth. Of course he’d fucking anticipated the wave of regret he was now facing, but he was both mentally and physically drained, his body starving for someone to touch it. He’d been weak and unable to resist the temptation.

Whatever, it was too late to change the course of events now, anyway.

Lawrence drank a tall glass of water, grabbed some Advil from his medicine cabinet, and got ready to pass the fuck out on his couch, too exhausted to drag himself all the way to his bedroom. Time to catch some sleep before he had to leave for the strategy meeting.  

Joel was the one to buzz him into the apartment, looking more put-together than Lawrence had felt in weeks. Obviously freshly showered, his curly, dark hair was positively bouncing on his head when he opened the door.

“Wow, you might actually look worse than Adam,“ was the first thing he said when he took in Lawrence’s disheveled appearance. There hadn’t been any time to style his hair or even eat after he’d slept through his alarm, so sue him.

“Fuck you, too,” Lawrence said, though there was no real bite in it. They entered the living room together, and Lawrence saw that everyone else was already there. Surprisingly, even Spoole seemed to have made it on time.

“He spent the night,” Joel elaborated when he noticed Lawrence’s questioning glance. “Speaking of, so did Peake and I. We got pretty smashed yesterday, and since we still had a change of clothes stashed here from our last heist, we decided on this as the smartest course of action.” He returned to where he’d probably been sitting prior to Lawrence’s arrival, if the small black notebook placed on the armrest of his chair was any indication.

“The couch is amazingly comfortable,” said Spoole, shrugging, before he hastily turned his attention back to his phone, likely busy with some app game or other. Peake was sitting in his favourite seat again, surveying the room with an expectant expression on his face. Bruce and James were taking up a large part of the couch, with James sitting in one corner, and Bruce more or less lying down, head in James’ lap, while James absentmindedly patted his hair.

“Hungover?” Lawrence asked, voice filled with as much sympathy as he could muster. Water and Advil had taken care of what little trouble the Vodka had caused him, his body already used to his constant high alcohol intake. James nodded.

“I drove us home last night. Figured these three were enough people to look after Adam, also, no offense, but I’m really fond of my own bed.” He nudged Adam’s legs with his foot.

Adam, who was sitting on the other end of the couch, waved him off. “None taken, I totally get that.”

Lawrence took in Adam’s appearance, his wet hair, the well-loved t-shirt, the pair of tight blue jeans; all in all, he seemed fine. Some space was left next to him, and Lawrence decided to overlook the simmering feeling of unease rising in his throat in favour of claiming the place for himself. There was a short moment where he realized that their legs were touching, that he was able to feel the warmth Adam’s body emitted, and the sensation nearly overwhelmed him. Fortunately, he got it under control relatively fast.

As he turned to Adam and met his eyes, he could see nothing but silent gratitude in his steady gaze. They were not going to let the events of last night change anything between them, or so he tried to reassure himself. He’d been so afraid that he wouldn’t be able to even look at Adam after everything.

Adam gently elbowed him in the ribs, and Lawrence tried to keep himself from grinning like an idiot, but when he saw that Adam wore a matching expression, he gave up. This was good, this was excellent. They could definitely make it work.

“Now that we’re all present, it’s time to get to that overdue strategy meeting,” James said, looking at each of them in turn. “You gotta sit up, Bruce, there’ll be ample opportunities to sleep later on.” Bruce grumbled, but he did as he was told, even though he still leaned heavily into James’ side.

“Okay, first on the list is…” James was interrupted by the insistent jingle of Lawrence’s smartphone, announcing the arrival of a new text message. It earned Lawrence an irritated glance on the part of Bruce, who squinted and massaged his forehead. Lawrence pulled out his phone from the chest pocket of his plaid shirt, and checked the sender. _Michael._

“Sorry guys, it’s important, I need to take care of this real quick,” he said, fingers already tapping away on the screen to open the text.

“What could possibly be more important to you than this meeting right now? Did you start seeing someone without telling any of us?” Joel sounded indignant.  

_> sorry that i wasn’t able to message you sooner, we ran into some trouble with the military. somehow they seemed upset about our newest helicopter project. fucking killjoys. anyway, that thing you wanted done? ryan and i dealt with it. as i said, we don’t expect any favours in return. tell adam the fake ah crew said hi. stay frosty, dude_

_I knew you were behind those helicopter messes clogging up traffic. <_

_That shit had your handwriting all over it. <_

_And you’re a true lifesaver, I can’t thank you enough. <_

_> it’s what friends are for, sonntag. don’t sweat it_

“Out with it, who’s the mystery girlfriend? Or boyfriend? You didn’t really have a preference, if I recall correctly,” Joel went on. Everyone was staring at him expectantly, causing Lawrence to shake his head in exasperation.

“Actually, the interaction was completely business related, and no, I am not insinuating that I paid for sex, James, stop grinning. As opposed to you fools, I spent last night trying to clean up after our little misadventure yesterday. Also, since you all seem to be so fucking invested in my sex life, here’s an update: fuck off, I’m still single,” he exhaled deeply, faking disappointment. “Honestly guys, I expected more from you.”

Adam snorted, and patted Lawrence’s shoulder in an exaggerated show of support, which, theoretically, would have been fine, had he not let his hand linger for a while when he attempted to steal Lawrence’s phone. It was a vain attempt as well, Lawrence’s reflexes honed from years of experience around people that were far too curious for their own good. However, the way his body seemed to enjoy the contact made him sneer inwardly. _God, this is so fucking pathetic._

“Hey, stop it, asshole. I was just about to update you on the situation. Anyway, the Fake AH crew sends their regards.” Lawrence sat up straighter and gently – mindful of Adam’s colourful bruises – shoved Adam over.

“Oh, is that who you were talking to? We haven’t heard from any of them in a while, it was starting to get kinda suspicious,” Spoole mused aloud. Whatever had him so fascinated on his phone earlier seemed to have lost its appeal, he was entirely focussed on the conversation.

“Yeah, Michael was just letting me know he’d fulfilled my request,” he confirmed, handing Adam his phone. “There you go, happy now?” Adam smiled with a hint of smugness that might have escaped the eyes of an untrained observer, but was plain as day to Lawrence.

“Yes, thank you,” he said, the smile turning into a full-on smirk. “Now, what was it you asked for?”

“I requested some assistance with following up on one of the loose ends that needed taking care of.” If he was being honest, he had to admit that he really enjoyed it when the rest of the crew was hanging on his lips, for once intently listening to every word he uttered.

“Goddammit, Lawrence, this is like fucking pulling teeth! Let’s see,” Bruce began listing the numerous things he could think of, counting them off on his fingers. “There’s Adam’s car, the security guy who tipped off the cops, the unit that tried to take us down, the officer in charge, the N.O.O.S.E. sniper who is more or less a dead man walking–” here, Lawrence cheerfully interrupted him.   

“The sniper’s name is John Denver. Or, to be more accurate, it was. That message Michael sent me was a confirmation of his untimely demise. I’m certain he and Ryan made John Denver’s final moment a living hell.” There was a short moment of silence as the others took in this new piece of intel.

James whistled through his teeth. “Someone was out for blood. I mean, don’t misunderstand me, we all wanted to get our revenge, but you spared no expenses. Damn, Lawrence, you’re a lot more bloodthirsty than I thought. Hats off.” Spoole humoured James’ acknowledgement by taking off his cap, doing a weird little salute in Lawrence’s direction, and putting it back on.

“Anyway, one less thing we need to handle. What about my car?” Adam looked slightly wistful as he said it, which just made delivering the news harder.

“Sorry, man, I had to remotely detonate the explosives we stored in that cache under the backseat in order to ensure the cops wouldn’t be able to find anything useful. There shouldn’t be much left of the vehicle.” Instead of the consoling hug he wanted to give Adam, Lawrence decided on a much less intimate gesture of comfort – the helpless shrug. “Believe me, if I had known of another way, I would have tried.”

“Ah, well. At least it’s dealt with. I forgive you.” He still seemed a bit sombre as he said it, eyes downcast and shoulders hunched. It wasn’t really a surprise, Adam had owned this car for quite a while, and it had served as a reliable getaway ride on multiple occasions.

“I’ll help you look for a new one,” Peake suggested. As usual, he was prepared to offer his assistance, to be supportive in any way possible; a constant, reassuring presence, always ready to have everybody’s back. “You’ll even get to customize it for free.”

“Damn, Matt, that’s incredibly generous of you. I’ll gladly take you up on it.” Some excitement had returned to Adam’s expression.

Matt ran a rather lucrative car modification business on the side, which operated behind the facade of an inconspicuous auto mechanic workshop. Other than being gifted when it came to working with his hands, his tirelessness, and commendable work ethic, Matt also had a remarkable resourcefulness about him. Whatever car you drove, he could get the fitting parts for it. He’d also dabbled in illegal street racing for a while, something you wouldn’t suspect from just looking at him.

“How is that fair? You made me pay for my upgrades!” Joel seemed a tad upset, but Lawrence was fairly certain that it was mostly pretend anger, designed to make Adam feel better about the loss of his precious vehicle.  

“Yeah, but your previous car didn’t get blown to smithereens, you simply decided to purchase that weird-ass, eco-friendly garbage can because you felt like it.” James was flat-out grinning at Joel, saying his line like the well-rehearsed, repeated-ad-nauseam argument it was. Bruce covered his face in his hands, in all likelihood completely aware of what was to follow.

“Please. Not this shit again,” he begged, voice weak and almost resigned, and promptly went ignored.

“There is nothing wrong with my car,” an agitated Joel replied, fully immersing himself in the spirit of the discussion.

“Fuck yes, there is. Everything is wrong with your car, it’s a piece of junk,” Adam was almost laughing now, eyes crinkling with mirth. Lawrence found it hard to look away.

“The reason why I made you pay was that I had to import all of the parts I needed to mod your car, which resulted in quite a hefty fee,” Peake said, fighting to hide his smile. “Buy an American model next time.”

Clearing his throat, Lawrence waited until his friends had calmed down – it took quite some time, as the age-old debate over Joel’s hybrid vehicle commonly tended to – before he staged an attempt at getting them back to the original topic.

“Besides the sniper and the evidence, I also dealt with the officer in charge, which, in turn, should negatively affect his unit. The only point left is the security guard who gave us up, and fucked with the rest of our plan.”

He looked at Bruce, who was still sitting next to him, features tense and concentrated. “I went back to look at all of Bruce’s notes, and, as it happens, he is entirely blameless. That guy was supposed to be on vacation, he had the week off. For whatever reason, he decided to come back to work earlier, found the replacement we had sent to infiltrate and sabotage the facility, and killed him. He let us in, tried to ambush us with the help of our dear friends over at the LSPD...you know how the rest plays out.”

His crewmates were staring at him with various degrees of admiration, except for Bruce, he simply appeared to be glad that Lawrence had absolved him of his guilt. Adam grabbed Lawrence’s right hand, and shook it like a businessman who had just struck the deal of his life.

“Always a pleasure to work with you, Mr. Sonntag. Anything else we should know? Like the whereabouts of our elusive security guard?” Lawrence lowered his head to hide the fact that he was blushing, pulled back his hand and adjusted his glasses.

“They put him in the witsec program, he should have already left the state by now. If you need me to, I could make contact with one of my old contacts from the FIB to find out more, and hire a hitman to take care of it,” he offered, mentally going through the list of reliable assassins he was sure he’d be able to get a hold of.

“No, it’s alright, you’ve done more than enough. Leave some work for the rest of us,” James insisted, the others nodding in agreement.

“Most of it consisted of tasks I would have had to do anyway, seeing as I’m the designated hacker of this crew.” It wasn’t like he’d overexerted himself.

“Buddy, what did I tell you about the compliment thing?” When he looked up, the expression on James’ face was more patient than Lawrence had expected.

“To be fair, that wasn’t really a compliment. You just said that ‘he’d done more than enough’,” Spoole said, watching James as though he were a particularly interesting display at a science fair. Lawrence was almost certain he did it for the sole satisfaction of seeing James mutter “Goddammit, Spoole,” through gritted teeth.

“You did a great job, Lawrence, we’re all very thankful, and I wish that, just once, Spoole would refrain from making the smart-ass comment,” Adam supplied helpfully.

“Bruce, James, you two check up on Blaine after this meeting is over, he’ll probably have some useful intel regarding this mess, being part of N.O.O.S.E. and all. Maybe hit up Miles and Kerry too. The detectives never disappoint when it comes to supplying relevant details, especially ones that never made it to the online database. Spoole, I want you to stake out the target of our next operation. Take Peake along, just to be safe. Joel, I know you’re busy with your other job today, so do your best and bring some cash home.”

Everyone of them had a side gig, an occupation they pursued in their free time. This way, they could finance even the more outrageous shenanigans the crew got up to.

Matt had his quite reputable car mod workshop, Joel fancied himself somewhat of a mastermind when it came to insider trading, Spoole occasionally flirted with the dope business.

Bruce and James had started out together, doing protection details and mercenary work before Adam had recruited them. They had stuck with it, and over the years, they had gained a quite respectable reputation, as well as a rather extensive list of renowned clients.

While Adam was mostly known and feared around Los Santos as the leader of the Fakehaus crew, his roots lay elsewhere; he’d climbed the ladder of criminal fortune as a successful hitman.

Lawrence himself moonlighted as a freelance hacker. It was the skill that had opened the doors to his first job for him, and it was what he excelled at. There was no one in the entire state who could even begin to measure up to his abilities, and this gained him a lot of favours with the local authorities – ironically, his benefactors hailed from both sides of the law.

Of course, not all of them tended to be aware of who they were dealing with, and he always made sure that his own interests weren’t being compromised. He was clever enough to cultivate an air of mystery around himself and his online presence, going so far as to create various unrelated accounts under different names. People only knew how to get a hold of him via message boards, no one had the means to contact him directly if he didn’t want them to.

Lawrence was good at covering his tracks. Years of semi-controlled paranoia had prepared him well. Few of his business associates were able to connect the dots, and fewer still could identify the signatures he left in his unique style of coding.

The fact that he had derived so much pride and identity from his hacker persona was one of the things that had constantly troubled his mind before he’d joined Adam’s crew as the last and final member.

When they looked at him, he felt like his friends didn’t solely value him for his particular skill-set, that they actually did care about Lawrence Sonntag, the ridiculously nerdy part-time alcoholic.

This feeling of acceptance was the factor that had initially convinced him to take Adam up on his offer. Not the circumstances of his acquaintanceship with Adam, but the patience and friendship he had extended to Lawrence, the way he had gone about it. Without any kind of pretense, unconditional, and entirely unprompted.

Joel, who apparently had something else he wanted to address, raised his hand until the room went quiet and all eyes were on him. “Is branching out still on the table?”

It was something they had thought about more and more recently. Los Santos’ seedy underbelly was highly contested territory. There were more parties involved than the LSPD had units at their disposal, so they regularly needed to fly in heavily-armed support from military bases close by.

The rate at which gangs sprung up and disappeared, were formed and annihilated, was growing daily. Most of them overestimated themselves and lost turf wars with neighbouring competitors, some were destroyed from within – either by moles or untamed greed, whereas the latter was a far more common occurrence.

Adam and his crew had been involved in more than one dangerous conflict since their formation, though up until now, they had always come out on top.

To avoid weakening each other through meaningless brawls, the Fakehaus crew, the Fake AH crew, and the OG squad – Los Santos’ biggest and most influential players respectively – had entered a precarious ceasefire.

Based on mutual respect and temporary alliances, it managed to keep the city’s criminal underground balanced.

Expanding your business turned out to be a lot more complicated when you constantly had to see to it that you weren’t accidentally stepping on anyone else’s toes.

Nevertheless, they were determined to acquire the extra cash necessary to afford absurdly expensive holiday trips to faraway locations. Last year, their budget had only just been enough to wreck havoc in Liberty City for a week, and while that had been satisfactory in some ways, they were aiming much higher this time.

But distance and the right gear were costly, not to mention the connections required to ensure things would go according to plan, including the maintenance of Los Santos’ status quo for the duration of their absence. Trust was a rare commodity in the current economy. It came with a price tag that far exceeded the value of a simple insurance against betrayal.

“Not unless we can buy someone out. With things as they stand, there’s no chance for us to encroach onto new territory without causing a major shift in the pre-existing power-dynamics.” Bruce had obviously put a lot of thought into this.

“The last time we had this discussion, we couldn’t even agree on what we wanted to get into,” Peake noted carefully. Lawrence could understand him only too well, he wasn’t eager to get into another argument over this either.

“Listen, I’m still really fond of the prospect of our own casino. Gambling, money laundering, something like that,” James mused, Spoole displaying his approval via a quick nod.

“No, that is completely off the table. Heyman is all over that stuff, owns pretty much 98 percent of the business himself. I would definitely advise against crossing that guy. He might seem friendly at first, but he’s fucking cut-throat. Got something positively machiavellian about him if you ask me.” Running a nervous hand through his black curls, Joel started to pace around the room, clearly agitated.

As far as Lawrence knew, the two Joels had met once, briefly, during the meeting that had set the cornerstone for the three-way peace treaty. Then again, they both meddled with the stock market, so Lawrence couldn’t entirely rule out the possibility of further encounters. Anyway, whatever Joel had heard about the OG squad’s financial wiz must have been bad if it managed to put that sharp, warning edge into his tone.

“All of the OG guys are scary as hell and I don’t intend to mess with them, ever. So, unless we can buy Heyman out, which is probably virtually impossible, there’s no way for us to get involved in gambling. This topic is postponed until further notice.” Adam’s voice left no doubt about the fact that he’d just spoken the final word on the matter.

When everyone else left to take care of their tasks, only Adam and Lawrence remained sitting on the couch, side by side. Neither of them was moving an inch, even though there was a lot more space to accommodate them now.

Lawrence made an earnest attempt not to think too much into it, since they were close friends, and generally very comfortable around each other. Naturally, it failed, just as so many of his other recent efforts to control his emotions around Adam had done.

Instead of addressing it in any way, Lawrence just let himself fall against the backrest, head leaned back to look up at the white ceiling.

He’d expected Adam’s close presence to stress him out much more than it currently did. This was weirdly relaxing, almost soothing in a way. If he were to close his eyes, he’d likely be able to fall asleep like this.

“Hey, do you want a drink?” Adam asked after some time had passed, already halfway to his feet, obviously certain what Lawrence’s answer was gonna be.

Truthfully, Lawrence wasn’t at all in the mood for booze, he was, however, quickly warming up to the idea of a short nap.

“Something hot would be nice; tea, if you have any,” he replied, voice mellow from the sleepiness creeping into it. His body had apparently decided to finally take back what Lawrence had denied it for so long; a proper rest.

His loud yawn drowned out whatever Adam said in response, though he didn’t appear to be too put off. “You’re real serious about that tea, huh?” The question sounded oddly gentle, and then Adam added ‒ even softer, in a low mumble, as though he thought Lawrence wouldn’t hear ‒ “I wish you’d tell me what the fuck’s got you so messed up.”

There was something visceral about the simple honesty of that statement, it felt like a direct punch to the gut, like all air had been stolen from his lungs at once, and Lawrence had to fight not to give himself away by taking a deep, desperate breath.

What if Adam thought this was his fault somehow? Because it wasn’t. That was so far from the truth, the two weren’t even on the same plane of existence.

Yet, Lawrence found himself unable to react in a manner that’d reveal he had, in fact, heard Adam. So he let Adam leave, watched with half-closed eyes, as Adam retreated to the kitchen in search of the desired beverages, and his mind slowly drifted off.

Waking up was a gradual procedure, it took him a moment to remember where he was and how he’d ended up in this position. With that came the realization that someone ‒ process of elimination clearly indicated that it must have been Adam ‒ had placed a woollen blanket over him, and shoved a pillow under his head. Again he was bereft of words, the sheer tenderness behind such a considerate gesture making his heart swell.

“I’m pretty sure your tea has gone cold by now.” Apparently, Adam had noticed Lawrence’s return to the waking world. Adam, who was sitting exactly where he’d sat before, still just as close to Lawrence, even though he could have chosen literally any other place. Adam, who had apparently made him a cup of actual tea and made sure that he’d sleep comfortable. _I’m so fucked. God fucking dammit._

A controller was unceremoniously dropped in his lap. “Seeing as you had the audacity to fall asleep on me, playing co-op mode is the least you can do to make up for it. I’m also two beers ahead of you, so you better catch up, asshole.” For someone with so much to complain about, Adam was sure smiling a lot.

“You could have woken me up, y’know? If it really bothered you, that is. What are we even playing, I don’t think I’ve seen this before?” Lawrence directed his attention towards the TV screen which showed what seemed to be a couple of funnily-shaped robots.

“Honestly, I’m glad you got some rest. Joel was right, you absolutely look worse than I do. And we’re playing some sort of puzzle game involving robots and portals. James recommended it to me, and since you’re a giant fucking dork, I thought this would be fun.”

They played for a while, easy banter going back and forth, as they solved one puzzle after another. The harder the puzzles became, the more they got into it. Until a certain level of inebriety was reached, and their main objective took a backseat in favour of the pure joy derived from fucking each other over. Eventually, they were laughing too hard, caught between aggravation and frustration; they had somehow found the perfect middle ground.

Lawrence couldn’t remember the last time he’d had this much fun. It must have been during one of their more elaborate stunts, maybe the Vinewood Studios Halloween Party heist. That had involved a whole bunch of costumes, a complicated set-up featuring multiple expensive, custom-engineered weapons, and a wild-goose chase on the side of the LSPD, who had been busy arresting innocent bystanders all night.

He felt almost light-headed, spending time with Adam like this, just revelling in each other’s company. Considering how much the two of them usually had on their plate, there wasn’t a lot of time for casual hangouts. At least not with less than four other people around at the same time.

Normally, it tended to not bother Lawrence how they all lived in each other’s back pockets, being constantly surrounded by your best friends counted as a good thing in his books. But this was...something else alright.

They switched over to a third-person shooter game, and upgraded their drink of choice from beer to Jack and Coke. The fun part of the evening wasn’t over yet.

Perhaps they could have gone on like that, gaming, joking, drinking, not really caring about anything else just then, if Adam hadn’t decided to ask something that had obviously been on his mind the entire time.

“Earlier, when James made that comment about you being more bloodthirsty than he’d expected...I was thinking something similar. Why did you go out of your way to get rid of that sniper? Why did you call in a favour from Michael, of all people?” Adam had paused the game and was now looking intently at Lawrence. “We could have taken care of everything together, as a group, but you decided to act on your own, to eliminate the man in the cruelest manner possible. Why? I haven’t seen you like this since the whole FIB debacle, when they managed to get pictures of us.”

Apparently the direct eye-contact became too much for Adam because he hesitated, and stared at his hands instead, nervously playing with the hem of his shirt.

“I don’t want you to feel like I’m prying, or anything, it’s just...I’m sort of your boss? In a sense where I don’t have, like, any actual authority over you, I know, and still… Obviously I’m also asking as your friend. I’m just worried, okay, that’s–”

Lawrence held up a hand, and Adam immediately stopped rambling, expression on his face somewhat grateful.

This conversation definitely wasn’t going in a good direction. There was no chance to derail it, either. At least not without Adam noticing that Lawrence was hiding something. What was he supposed to answer? That he’d been too scared by the danger of losing Adam? _Aw, hell_.

“Look, I was simply trying to lift some of the weight from your shoulders. I came up with a plan, it worked out, that’s it.” Actually there hadn’t been anything simple about it, though Adam didn’t need to bother himself with those particular details. He also realized that his answer might have sounded a tad defensive. _Well, whatever. Too late now._

“You involved Ryan and Michael in this, for fuck’s sake! Calling in a favour isn’t just a small thing, and you did it all casual-like, as if it wouldn’t matter. I’m aware everybody and their fucking uncle owe you, but why waste it on this?!” his voice rose, irritation clearly written into every fibre of his being. Very rarely did Adam get upset enough to let it show as clearly as it did in this instance. Usually it was all contained in the heavy set of his shoulders, the intentional calmness of his breathing rhythm, the strain around his eyes. Not understanding Lawrence was really getting to him.

“It’s one of the advantages of being the best hacker around. People require a ton of help, so they offer their services in return. It’s up to me to decide when I want to call those in. Like next time we’re doing a heist, for example. Perhaps I’ll ask Ryan for air support. And I wouldn’t say it was a waste, that shithead got what he deserved!” Lawrence stated, trying to reign in the fury that crept into his voice at the memory of the sniper. He hated that his control on this situation was slipping, if it had ever even existed in the first place. There was absolutely no need for him to get upset, or worse, to get into a stupid argument with Adam over this. _Be reasonable,_ he admonished himself, _he’s more likely to let this go if you’re being your ordinary calm and composed self._

Adam, however, didn’t seem at all inclined to let this go. Judging from his body language, the opposite was far more likely: he’d placed one hand on Lawrence’s left shoulder, making sure they were facing each other, and he was searching direct eye-contact again when he spoke. “I can tell something is bothering you, you don’t have to put on some bullshit act around me. When you joined I promised you, didn’t I? That you could always talk to me, that I’d listen, no matter what.”

The earnest desire to help in Adam’s look, and the pleading note in his tone, the touch of his hand on Lawrence’s shoulder burning through his plaid shirt… All of it plus the fact that they were so close he inhaled Adam’s scent every time he breathed in – a mix of sunny Los Santos afternoons, Adam’s favourite brands of aftershave and fabric softener, as well as the ever-present ghost of cordite – completely overwhelmed him.

His brain short-circuited under the sheer confusion caused by him feeling angry, oddly vulnerable, helpless, and incredibly aroused at the same time.

“I wanna blow you.”

It was barely more than a whisper, spoken into a second of breathlessness, filled with the desperation and raw, unadulterated want of someone who had done his utmost to repress his feelings over a very long period of time.

Lawrence sat there, paralyzed, shocked into absolute stillness. Had he… had he really just said that? For a moment, neither of them so much as breathed a word. They stared at each other, wide-eyed, locked in some sort of limbo of dread.

With a distant curiosity, Lawrence noticed that his right hand wasn’t shaking when he slowly reached up to remove Adam’s hand from his shoulder. He swallowed, and there was no bile rising in his throat; there was no sweating either, no perception of rapid changes to his body temperature.

Maybe the alcohol had altered his powers of observation in addition to eradicating his common sense because Adam appeared more startled than disgusted. Of course, there was still time. If nothing else, he had at least achieved his earlier goal; his non-sequitur had certainly managed to derail the conversation entirely.

Their uneasy silence was disrupted by a bout of nervous laughter, Adam was obviously starting to crack under the tense atmosphere. He’d turned away, wasn’t looking in Lawrence’s direction anymore, his hands rested motionlessly in his lap.

“Jesus, Lawrence, that’s… Good joke, buddy.” There was that shaky laughter again, accompanied by Adam rubbing his beard with unsteady fingers.

“Yeah, you– you figured it out, fuck, I– I’m, I was joking, sure.” Okay, this was quite possibly the worst thing that had happened to him in a long time, and it got more and more awful by the minute. Where there’d been a strange confidence just a second ago, his body was now catching up with his mind. Lawrence could already envision himself desperately trying to escape this awkward mess of a situation. Fuck, if he’d brought his semi-automatic pistol, he could have at least gone out in style. But he’d left that in his car, along with what seemed like most of his luck, intelligence, and conversation skills.

“Wait, you were serious?” Adam looked surprised, like he’d considered the idea of Lawrence fucking with him to be far more likely than the possibility of him being actually serious. _Please, brain, don’t go there, I can’t deal with that image right now._

“Does that bother you?” He was sure he’d never scrutinized anyone else so sharply before. Every little twitch of Adam’s muscles, every miniscule change in his expression was carefully catalogued and analyzed. However, his previously unmatched ability to read Adam was failing him spectacularly.

Then Adam slowly, almost hesitantly shook his head. Lawrence could see his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed, and God, if that wasn’t the hottest fucking thing. His want was a sweltering heat, spreading from his stomach into the rest of his body in a constant stream of sweet, intense desire that was suddenly boiling dangerously close to the surface. Unable to tear his gaze away from Adam’s face, from the clear brown eyes that met his in a way that told him Adam was searching for reassurance, Lawrence had trouble keeping himself in check.

The situation had done a total 180, and he was still attempting to process that. _Rushing will do more harm than good here… Fuck, I can’t believe this is real. Stay calm, just stay fucking cool, idiot. We need to clarify this and set some ground rules first._

“I’m talking about a no-strings-attached bj here, promise this isn’t gonna make anything weird, I’m just gonna get you off. That’s all. We don’t– we never would have to, you know…” Instead of elaborating, Lawrence gesticulated wildly to get his point across. Adam nodded sagely.

“Just, Lawrence, just one thing. This isn’t the alcohol talking, right? You do want this?” _Christ, Adam, you have no fucking clue how much._

“Yes, I,” Lawrence cleared his throat, “Do you honestly think I would have said it if I didn’t? Well, you did assume I was joking, so, forget that I asked. No, to be concise, I really do want this.” Somewhere in his mind, a less clumsy version of himself was cackling manically at his pathetic inability to be any kind of suave.

“Is this because of last night?” Something about the way he said it gave Lawrence pause. He wasn’t at all certain how this was relevant, but if it made Adam happy, Lawrence would be the last one to deny him the truth.

“Not really, no.”

It had apparently been the right answer, since Adam grinned at him. Maybe the grin was a little wobbly, but it reached his eyes and caused them to crinkle. And damn, Lawrence was glad blowing Adam wouldn’t require him to stand upright, because this particular expression always made him feel weaker in the knees.

He got up and positioned himself between Adam’s legs, grabbed his hips and pulled him a bit closer for better access. “Okay?” he asked, voice even and composed. There were no words for the mix of excitement and arousal he currently found himself in. This was probably as close to a real-life version of one of his favourite fantasies as he was ever going to get. Unless he woke up within the next few minutes to realize it was solely an alcohol-induced hallucination, of course, not that he’d experienced one before.

Adam nodded his consent, the look in his eyes steady, if a tad wary. “You don’t think this is a mistake, do you?” In his mind, Lawrence was reliving that first conversation he’d had with Adam. The missed opportunity and the regret that had come after.

Before he replied, Lawrence let his right hand wander along the inseam of Adam’s jeans, feeling the warmth he emitted, and enjoying the tensing of the firm muscles underneath the texture. “Depends on your definition of ‘mistake’, I guess. If you wanna classify getting amazing head as one, then I’d say that yes, this is definitely a mistake.”

Lawrence methodically removed his glasses and tucked them into the chest pocket of his shirt, then turned his attention to the button and jeans he still needed to undo. He did so slowly, his entire focus on the points of contact between his and Adam’s body.

“Someone is surprisingly confident in his skills. You had a lot of practice?” While he didn’t yet react to the question, Lawrence motioned for Adam to help him pull the jeans down. He made a show of getting on his knees, feeling Adam’s heavy gaze watching every single one of his actions. None of them were unnecessary. Although he was usually rather clumsy, in this very moment he had full control over his limbs, a perfect economy of movement.

“Why don’t you see for yourself?” A sudden giddiness was taking hold of him, the smirk in his voice clearly audible. Regardless of what would happen later on, he was determined to savour the hell out of this, to do his best to please Adam. And yes, he did have the utmost confidence in his abilities to succeed.

Lawrence bowed his head forward, and began to breathe hotly against the outline of Adam’s half-hard dick in his striped boxers, hands incessantly stroking Adam’s thighs. The shocked exhale he received when he nuzzled it through the fabric only served to spurn him on more. Oh God, he was gonna make this so good for Adam.

Under his rigorous, dedicated ministrations, Adam quickly grew to full hardness, and Lawrence could feel his mouth watering at the prospect of getting to finally taste Adam after all this time spent imagining it.

“Gotta lose the underwear,” he mumbled, voice already hoarse from all the unsaid things that were burning in his throat.

Somehow, they managed to get Adam out of his boxers as well, leaving his lower body completely exposed to Lawrence for the second time in as many days. Adam’s face was flushed red, by Lawrence’s estimation it was about fifty percent shame and fifty percent excitement. _Leave it to Adam to worry about his physical shape in this situation._

If the conditions were different, Lawrence would take his sweet time, would worship Adam’s body as much as it deserved. Alas, there was no chance of that happening here, this was purely a casual blowjob after all. _Just your run-of-the-mill friends with benefits scenario_ , a voice in his mind supplied bitterly.

Without any further warning, he swallowed most of Adam down in one go, right hand wrapped around the part he couldn’t fit in his mouth – yet. He wasn’t going to go all out from the beginning, no reason to show his hand right away. They had time.

Adam whined, a drawn-out, needy sound that went straight to Lawrence’s dick. Fuck, he’d hoped Adam would be vocal, would make it easy for Lawrence to figure out what he liked.

As his fingers started to carefully tease Adam’s balls, he was rewarded with a gasp and a slight pet on the head, like Adam wasn’t sure whether he was allowed to touch Lawrence – when really, there was nothing Lawrence wanted more in that moment than Adam’s hands all over him.

Looking up through his eyelashes, Lawrence stopped for a second, and waited until his gaze was returned before he spoke, tone as nonchalant as he could master in his current state, the tip of Adam’s dick only millimeters from his wet lips. “You know, you can pull my hair if you want. Or fuck my face, I don’t mind.”

While Adam was obviously still busy processing this, he playfully licked around the tip, sucked it back into his mouth and started to explore the veins on the underside with his tongue.

“Fuck Lawrence, I– fuck,” Adam moaned, desperately grasping for something to hold on to, and eventually deciding that Lawrence’s hair was his best bet. The sensation caused by the rough tugging made Lawrence hum around Adam’s dick in pure enjoyment.

“I never– Jesus, Lawrence, Jesus fucking Christ.” Those were still way too many recognizable words for Lawrence’s taste, so he came to the conclusion that it was time to go all out. He closed his eyes and took all of Adam in, down to the root. Forcing his throat to relax and keeping his gag reflex under control were no real challenges anymore, he’d done this often enough.

Lawrence closed his eyes, and let himself revel in the heavy feeling of Adam’s dick filling him like this, of the pleasant ache in his jaw. His senses were overwhelmed by the sheer satisfaction this gave him; the heady smell of Adam from up close calmed something hungry inside of him, the salty taste of pre-come in his mouth turned him on even more.

He could hear Adam curse as he started to bob his head, establishing a good rhythm. Teasing was out of the question now, Lawrence was earnestly trying to get Adam off. God, he couldn’t stop thinking about how many nights he’d gone to bed with just this scenario in his head, and here he was: on his knees, sucking Adam’s dick, the noises in his ears incredibly pornographic.

Adam was moaning loudly, even the most indiscernible words had left him. When he finally put both hands on the sides of Lawrence’s jaw and began to fuck his mouth, the strong grip was almost enough to make Lawrence come in his pants like a horny teenager.

In one of his favourite blowjob-related fantasies, he asked Adam whether he wanted to come on Lawrence’s face or down his throat, the answer varying according to his mood on that respective day. It was too late to turn that into a reality though, because he could feel that Adam was close, and all he could focus on was how to push him over the edge.

A soft, deceptively innocent touch was what eventually did it – Lawrence, who was using Adam’s hips to steady himself, moved his right thumb over the hipbone in a caressing motion. With a choked-off sound, he came in Lawrence’s mouth, eyes squeezed shut and head thrown back in pleasure, while Lawrence greedily absorbed every second of it. He wanted to remember this for the lonely nights full of regret which were sure to follow.

Lawrence gently sucked him through the aftershocks, made sure that Adam was completely spent before he released him. Nervously licking his lips and wiping his mouth with his meticulously buttoned up sleeve, he deeply breathed in and out a couple of times to calm himself down, never once taking his eyes off of Adam.

Adam, who had fallen back against the comfy support of the couch, hands splayed on his upper thighs, dick soft between his legs. Adam, whom Lawrence was most certainly in love with.

There was something tragically hilarious about the whole thing, but he could agonize over that later. One of his more pressing concerns was the fact that he was still painfully hard in his jeans, dick constrained by two entirely too tight layers of cloth.

He’d have to take care of that himself, there was no way he’d ask Adam to reciprocate.

Another inspection confirmed that he’d left no traces on Adam, no bruises or scratches, nothing that would give him away. Thankfully he’d managed to remain careful, even though there was so much left of Adam that he craved to touch.

Lawrence could feel Adam watching him lazily from the couch through half-closed eyes as he stood up, but he pretended to be too preoccupied with cleaning imaginary lint from his jeans to meet his gaze. Mostly, he was afraid he would give himself away if he did. Damn, he’d never felt so open and vulnerable in his life.

Adam awkwardly cleared his throat, apparently his afterglow had worn off somewhat. “So, uhm… do you want me to–” Lawrence waved him off. No need for Adam to bother himself with what basically amounted to a self-inflicted problem. With the cold, harsh sense of reality settling over his body, Lawrence was sobering up rather quickly. His current objective was to get the hell out of here before he could make any more stupid suggestions.

“Nah, it’s fine. It’s pretty late anyway, I should probably get going.” Inwardly, he cringed at the harsh transition, and the indifferent attitude it implied. The reasoning was that both of them could probably use some room, some space to breathe – Lawrence knew he did. He picked up the blanket that had fallen off the couch at some point during the evening, and spread it out over Adam’s legs. “And you should catch some sleep.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed how something changed in Adam’s expression, like he was about to object. Lawrence thought he recognized fear, but there was something else as well, a swirl of emotion he couldn’t really identify.

“Don’t worry, I’ll call you when I get home.”

On his way to the door, Adam made an aborted motion, maybe an attempt to reach for Lawrence’s arm. With a heavy sigh, Lawrence sped up his steps and pretended to be oblivious. Better for both of them not to draw this out any longer.

He spent the entire ride down staring at himself in the reflective surface on the elevator’s wall, unable to turn away. Where Adam had held on to his jaw earlier, his strong grip had caused small bruises. They wouldn’t last long, a day at most. Still, he hesitated when he raised his hand to touch them, one by one. A physical proof that all of this was real, a visible mark Adam had left on him. Dark spots that stood out on his pale skin. The fact that his dick was way too interested in this new development didn’t even faze him anymore. _Time to get home and jerk off in the shower again. Twice._

Overcome by the intense desire to bash his head against the wall repeatedly, Lawrence almost missed the signal, and pulled himself together just in time to see the elevator’s doors open on the first floor.

Los Santos at night wasn’t particularly different from Los Santos by day, not even the temperature had dropped all that much. Traffic was as busy as ever, and Lawrence stole a small moment for himself, watching the busy street from the entrance to Adam’s apartment building.

Only now did he remember that he had no idea how to actually get home. While he was feeling sober, and also sort of like death, Lawrence didn’t actually want to die. At least not yet, there was always later. So driving himself was out of the question. Public transport and cabs were no viable options either, not for someone who knew the city well enough and valued his life. Pulling out his phone, he decided his one true alternative was to ask someone to pick him up. Like Michael, for example.

If not for the favour earlier, he’d definitely owe him for this one. He opened his message app and started to compose a text.

_> Hey, are you drunk yet?_

_no, haven’t had the time. why? what’s up <_

_> I need a ride home._

_wait a second, man. <_

_alright, i’m free now. <_

_where are you at? <_

_> Adam’s apartment. You know the place?_

_hell yeah, i do. good taste, that guy. <_

_let me guess, you got smashed. <_

_well, at least you texted me instead of doing anything dumb. <_

_> …_

_“...”? what the fuck is that supposed to mean <_

_> I might have made a grave mistake._

_like what? <_

_> Like sucking Adam off._

_urgh, dude. <_

_that is too much and not enough info at the same time. <_

_> Very succinctly put._

_shut the fuck up. <  _

_so, is he like, into you now? <  _

_or do i have to break our holy peace treaty for you and beat him up? <_

_> It’s more complicated than that._

_oh, jesus fucking christ. <_

_wait, it’s you, what was i expecting. <_

_so goddamned extra. <_

_when do you need me? <_

Just as Lawrence was in the middle of typing “ _Right now, actually._ ”, the door behind him flung open. Adam was out of breath, his chest heaving, and a light sheen of sweat covered his forehead. He’d put his jeans back on, though the button was still undone, and he wasn’t wearing shoes or socks. Lawrence was so distracted by it that he even forgot to be shocked.

“Did you take the stairs?” Instead of a verbal answer, he received a frantic nod, as Adam took deep breaths in an attempt to establish an even rhythm. “You live on the 30th floor!” Lawrence exclaimed, unsure whether to be impressed or irritated. “Could have broken your neck or something, you fucking idiot.”

“I couldn’t just fucking let you leave! Anyway, we do way more dangerous shit every single day, and yes, please call me an idiot, I really do deserve it.” His voice still sounded a little breathless, but the glimmer in his eyes was all steady certainty.

The shock he hadn’t felt before finally caught up with him, and Lawrence was stunned speechless for a second. What exactly was Adam doing here? Why had he sprinted down sixty flights of stairs, on the off-chance that he might be able to stop Lawrence from leaving? Was this purely out of concern for a friend? It couldn’t possibly be‒

Adam rudely interrupted his confused inner monologue by shoving him up against the nearest wall and staring him straight in the eyes.

“Listen, I’m sorry it took me awhile to put the pieces together, but in my defense, you really haven’t made it easy for me. Guess that was sort of the purpose, huh?” An incredulous laugh escaped Lawrence. This entire situation was too abstract to be real, so maybe he was indeed experiencing alcohol-induced hallucinations.

“I was wondering whether I was reading things correctly, and then I suddenly remembered the look on your face after I got shot. There was something in your eyes, something different I couldn’t name. It shouldn’t have taken me as long as it did, but since you didn’t notice anything either, this sort of makes us even.”

They were standing so close to each other again, there was barely any distance between their chests. He could feel the echo of every word Adam said stroke hotly over his skin. Had his heart stopped beating or was it beating too fast? How did this communication thing work again?  
When Adam gently traced the bruises on Lawrence’s skin with his fingers, a shaky moan sneaked past his lips, and Adam smiled warmly in response.

“If it’s alright with you, I’d really like to kiss you now,” Adam said, and how he managed to keep his voice so even was beyond Lawrence, who didn’t even trust his own enough to answer. Parts of him were frozen in disbelief, others were probably busy processing this. Finally, he registered the intent behind what had been said, and blinked.

A pathetic, startled “Yeah,” was all he could bring himself to utter, but then speech stopped mattering because they were kissing and all coherent thought went out the figurative window.

Adam was carefully cradling his head, thumbs softly rubbing his skin. The kiss was aggressive and full of want, its intensity burning him up in the best way imaginable.

When Adam playfully nibbled on his lower lip, Lawrence parted his lips, and Adam’s tongue eagerly licked into his mouth.

Lawrence’s hands settled, once again, on Adam’s hips, first hesitantly ‒ like he was afraid he was dreaming and the bubble would burst ‒ then his grip tightened, needy rather than possessive.

Both of them probably tasted of alcohol, and Adam didn’t seem to mind that Lawrence had recently had his dick in his mouth, actually it was more likely that the opposite held true.

Even after the kiss was over, as they gasped for breath, neither seemed inclined to let go. They clung to each other almost desperately, foreheads touching, eyes wide open.

“So, are we talking about feelings now?” Lawrence whispered questioningly into the small space between them. Half of him still struggled to grasp what was happening, while the other half was already overthinking everything there was to overthink.

“Do you want me to say it out loud? Because I will,” Adam mumbled back mock-threateningly, voice barely louder than Lawrence’s had been, like this was a secret worthy of protecting.

Lawrence could feel himself blush from his face all the way to his chest, and cast down his eyes in a manner he would later vigorously deny could be called bashful. His heart was hammering violently in his throat.

“You‒ you don’t have to though, okay, you don’t need‒” slightly annoyed with himself, he decided to shut up for once. _I guess it would be nice to hear him say it._

Adam covered Lawrence’s hands with his own and leaned in, beard brushing Lawrence’s cheek, which caused pleasant shudders to erupt all over his body.

“I’m in love with you, you giant dork, and I know I told you this before, but for the love of everything that’s good in this world, don’t ever change,” Adam spoke directly into his ear, then went on to rest his head on Lawrence’s shoulder.

“Yeah, gosh, I‒ I’ll try, alright, I… goddammit, I love you too.” His voice gave out on the last syllable, and he swallowed against the flood of emotions rising to the surface.

They remained silent for a few seconds ‒ or maybe minutes, who was keeping score, really? ‒ just stood there, all twisted up in each other, enjoying the warmth of a normal Los Santos night. The street lights nearby illuminated the area around them, and traffic in the area still hadn’t let up, yet none of those things bothered the two.

“Hey, what are we gonna tell the others? How do you reckon they’ll react?” Lawrence mused, hand stroking Adam’s hair absentmindedly. This was perfect.

Adam, whose nose was buried in Lawrence’s neck, looked up with glee in his eyes. “Are you kidding? They’ve been making fun of me for months! James keeps joking about it in that annoyingly supportive way of his, and Bruce and Joel won’t stop giving me worried glances when they think I’m not paying attention. Honestly, you can be glad that you’re so hard to read. Don’t worry about them, it’ll be just fine.”

Lawrence’s laughter was full of relieved happiness and amazement, he was rather certain this was exactly how you felt when the weight of the world dropped from your shoulders.

“How did I not catch any of that? Here I thought I was great at observation.” It was really hard to get upset when everything within him was so light.

“Nothing to observe if they only do it when you’re not around. Hey, do you wanna go back upstairs? We could totally make out in the elevator.” The grin on Adam’s face was accompanied by a purposely obnoxious wink, which earned him an indulgent eye roll from Lawrence.

“Alright, but wait a second, I need to do something first.” Under Adam’s curious glance, he held up his phone, and started typing.

_> Regarding my earlier request: forget about it._

_> Looks like I’m sleeping over._

_> ;) _

**Author's Note:**

> shoutout to my best friend Corts - she beta-read this for me, virtually held my hands, cheered me on, and is generally the most supportive person I could ever ask for, I don't know whether this would have been finished as fast/at all without her help
> 
> this fic only exists because at some point late at night my brain went: what if lawrence had a bj kink?? so yeah
> 
> if you ever wanna talk abt shiphaus stuff, hit me up on my tumblr! the url is lawrencesunday.tumblr.com


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